The Professor's Pet
by DaughterOfTheBrownCoats
Summary: Before Snape's EveryWoman, a look into the begining of the relationship between Professor and Students. Will contain kinky,probably BDSM-y lemons a little later.  Come read and play in my version of JKR's world! Very much Alternate Universe
1. Polyjuice Potion and Firewhiskey

_Dear Gentle Readers,_

_Thanks for checking out this story! It's meant to be a prequel to _Snape's EveryWoman_, a story of how Professor and Student become more than that… I hope that no one minds the liberties I've taken with JKR's story. I don't really feel the need to give a deep background on the War, or why Albus is still alive, etc., etc.… I just am writing how I think it should have ended, instead of how it did end. Anyway, this story just for fun, just another way to let my silly, dirty imagination run free! So, pleassssssssssse comment, let me know if you like this, if you want more. Now, please begin….._

_~ Always, with love from me to you, your humble servant, and his, Master Snape's Pet_

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><p>Snape couldn't believe he was doing this. The Polyjuice Potion was foul enough without the hair of the Red-Headed Weasel, but there you go. This was the easiest way to determine if The Boy Who Lived To Drive Him Mad had had a hand in that little incident involving dungbombs, Peeves, and a large quantity of soggy tea dregs.<p>

Weasley was, just as he'd been for the entire year so far, in detention with Filch, a year-long Saturday night punishment for dumping a bowl of pudding on Filch's mangy Mrs. Norris during the Sorting Feast.

Filch, irrational soul that he was, refused to believe that Ron had been trying to pass the bowl to Hanna Abbot, seated at the table across the aisle. Choosing to interpret the incident as a direct attack on his own person, Filch had insisted that Ron serve a two hour detention every Saturday night. He, Filch, would then spend the intervening days thinking up every disgusting task he could set to the poor, clumsy boy.

Now Snape was taking advantage of Weasley's occupied state to infiltrate the Golden Trio.

With a grimace, the Potions Master gulped down the gloppy liquid, which had turned a distressing orange color with the addition of Ron's hair. Watching the transformation in the full-length mirror in his dressing room, Snape reflected that turning into Weasley was more painful than almost any other transformation he ever undergone. Odd, really, because they were of a similar height and build. He did dislike Weasley the most of all those other transformees.

Hmmm, perhaps there was a correlation between the transformers opinion of the transformee and the difficulty/pain of the actual transformation…

Shelving that thought for another time, perhaps he could do some research on that, but for now… He tugged on the student robes he'd transfigured and slipped quietly out of the room.

About fifteen minutes later, Snape removed the Disillusionment Charm and stared at the Fat Lady.

"Well?" Her voice was strident and snippy when she asked, "Password?" Snape/Ron glared at her and waited. Within minutes, hurried footsteps sounded on the corridor and Neville Longbottom came stumbling up.

"Forgotten the password, have you? It's not often I can be the one to remember something!" His overly cheerful face made Snape was to deduct House points, but he just mumbled something and went back to staring at the Fat Lady. When a few moments passed without anything happening, Snape shifted his glare back to Neville.

The boy had his face scrunched up, clearly trying to recall the phrase. Snape's fingers were itching for his want to throttle the annoying fellow when more footsteps echoed up the hall.

"Oh good, Hermione's coming." Neville's face was a welcoming beam again. Snape gave just the slightest twitch at the sound of that name and felt his face begin to scowl. Taking a deep breath, Snape schooled his features into the friendly smile. It wouldn't do for Miss Granger to wonder why one of her best friends was scowling blackly at her, especially when he was supposed to have gotten out of detention very early tonight

_With her nose buried in a book; how typical _he thought. She hurried along toward the portrait and the two waiting boys.

"Hallo!" Neville's cheerful call made the brown mop of curls raise.

"Oh honestly, have you both forgotten the password? Really, Ron, it was your suggestion chosen this time!" With a longsuffering sight that covered the almost inaudible growl from Snape, Hermione turned to the portrait and said matter-of-factly: "Great Greasy Git." On a creak from hinges well past the need for oil, the Fat Lady swung open and the three climbed through.

For a moment, Snape considered scrapping the entire plan and going to tell Filch that the spidery offspring of Aragog needed milking; surely Filch would assign that task to Weasley. It would serve the little pustule right for suggesting such a password.

His train of thought was interrupted by Hermione's voice, however. He tuned back in to hear her say, "…and I still can't believe he hasn't caught wind of that password. You'd better hope that Professor Snape remains in the dark, or you'll be serving detention every night, not just Saturday. By the way, why are you not polishing Filch's thumbscrews with your toothbrush, or something equally vile?"

"Filch took ill." He out it out quickly, wanting to explain and get away before she started lecturing again. But she didn't seem inclined to continue, as she just nodded and walked to the stairs to where he assumed her dormitory was, her nose back in her book.

"Hermione!" Her name tasted sticky on his tongue, as though now he'd spoken it, he'd have it on his lips all night.

When she just called, "What?" over her shoulder, he felt like growling again.

"Where's P – Harry?"

She simply raised her arm, finger pointing up the other staircase and continued to her own stairs.

Grumbling about students, Gryffindors in particular, Snape went up the stairs. Stopping at the room with Ron and Harry's names, he took a moment to compose his features into a smile befitting getting out of a nasty detention.

He flung the door open.

Only to find Potter passed out cold on the (_Ugh. Typical Gryffindor tastelessness) _scarlet and gold coverlet. With a sigh, Snape moved to the bed to wake him. However, he'd only gotten in one good shake before running footsteps sounded on the stairs. Ginny Weasley came into the room with a flurry of robes and red hair.

"Come on, you two! Seamus slipped down to the kitchen and got his hands on a bottle of firewhiskey!" While Snape made what he felt were appropriate teenage noises of excitement over the chance to drink ill-gotten alcohol, Ginny grinned and jumped up to Harry's bed, kneeling next to him.

When she kissed him and giggled, "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty!" Snape had to turn away or vomit…. Possibly both.

"I'll just meet you…uh, where, umm Ginny?"

"Oh, sorry, up in Neville and Seamus' room. He figured since he went and got it, he gets to be its keeper. "

Leaving Ginny and the now-awake Potter cooing like lovesick doves, Snape stepped out and turned to walk up the stairs, pondering this new twist. Yes, he may be spending a bit more time on this project than he'd planned, but the addition of alcohol would probably make the endeavor to get information out to the group of troublemakers much easier.

Pondering as he was on his chance of casting a Never Ending Charm on the firewhiskey bottle, he knew very well how quickly a group of determined-to-get-drunk students could empty a single bottle of firewhiskey, he didn't hear the footsteps behind him…but he felt her.

His skin tingled and he turned his head. He was grateful that she was still engrossed in her book and not interested in chitchat as they walked up the flight of stairs to the next bedroom. At the door, he automatically opened it and stood back to let her enter first.

She shot him a surprised half smile as she walked past. Snape damned himself for not staying in character, then did it again when he deeply inhaled her scent, against his better judgment.

What was wrong with him? This was ridiculous! He was a professor, dammit. He should _not _be having such a reaction to a student. Even if that student were older than usual, having come back to fulfill the seventh year she'd missed. Or if she were exceptionally intelligent. Or a keen debater, constantly challenging him with clever arguments, so that he had to think very fast to avoid being bested. Or if she were lovely, in an adult way, not like a child. Or if she smelled like a rain-washed forest…Fuck!

_Pull yourself together, man. She is your _student_! You've never even thought about crossing this line before, stop thinking about it with her!_

Shaking his head to dispel the illicit images of Miss Granger that he Really Should Not Be Harboring, he fell in being behind her and walked into the bedroom.

Neville and Seamus were already there, along with Seamus' current squeeze, a sweetly plump sixth year named Beth Clymer, and her best friend, Rose Harper, who was making calf's eyes at Neville when he wasn't looking. Snape could hear Ginny and Harry coming up the stairs, still cooing nauseatingly.

Before long, everyone had taken a place on one of the two beds or chairs; Hermione and Ginny sat on the floor, with Ginny leaning against Harry's legs while he reclined on the bed.

Seamus whipped out the bottle of firewhiskey with a grand flourish and to loud applause. With an expansive gesture, he flicked his wand at the bottle and the cork popped out. Before he began to decant the liquor, Hermione said, "Here, Seamus, let me have it."

He passed it to her and grinned broadly when she waved hr wand in a complicated and extremly long pattern and called, "Contanum Eternia." While Beth passed glasses around, Hermione handed the bottle back to Seamus so he could do the honors. The all raised their drinks in an effusive toast to the thief and drank. Thought Snape felt no need to cough (he drank a glass or two of the stuff nearly every night) he faked a spell so the others, each caught up in their own coughing fits, wouldn't notice.

Clearly this was a first time for the students. Their eyes were red and wet, their faces a range of colors, from Rose's matching her face to Harry's interesting shade of purple. Every one of them was hacking as though their lives depended on it.

All of them, except Hermione.

With a bland look on her face but amusement in her eyes, she watched the other struggle to regain their composure, while she continued to sip her drink. Her eyes were indeed a bit damp and she looked more flushed than normal, but clearly the girl knew enough about firewhiskey to know to take it slow at first.

With her face breaking into a broad grin, she pointed her wand at the bottle, efficiently conducting it around the room, refilling glasses. The teens stared the glasses with more respect than before. With a laugh, Hermione said, "Oh, just do it! It'll go down easier this time!"

Taking her at her word, they all slammed their drinks back. Snape figured he'd have to actually drink one more shot before the others would be giddy enough for him to get the information he wanted and slip away.

He was correct, as usual.

By the end of the third shot, the girls were giggling madly and the boys had big, silly grins on their faces. Even the controlled Hermione had taken a shot this time, giving her a slightly foggy look.

Acting as loopy as the others, Snape took the bottle and poured a slug into his glass before leaning over to sloppily fill Harry's.

"A toast, mate! To the Great Greasy Git, many he be covered in dungbombs for many years to come!"

The assembled group roared out their approval. Harry's voice was slurred when he yelled, "Bloody hell, I wish we'd thought of it, Ron! With Hermione on our side, we couldda gotten the things to pelt the Bat from every door, all day long. That git Malfoy, he's got no 'magination. He thought for a moment, tossed back his shot and called, "An' no 'Mione! That's the git's trouble, he's got no 'Mione."

Snape stared, flabbergasted for a moment, trying to absorb that it had been Malfoy to set up that prank. Hell, when he got his hands on that little ferret…

Lovely thoughts of mayhem were distracted by Neville's slurred, "Wait…which git? Malfoy or Snape?"

Clearly thinking about something else now, Harry stared at him and asked, "Which git what?"

Neville poured Rose and himself another drink and asked curiously, "Which git ain't got 'Mione?"

"Malfoy," Harry responded firmly.

"So Snape's got her?" Curiosity colored Neville's tone.

Harry burst out laughing, which luckily covered Snape's sputtered "What?"

And just like that, the party became Snape's worst nightmare. The girls, except Hermione, were laughing hysterically. Hermione was, however, blushing slightly, more than from the alcohol.

Harry's initial burst of laughter faded and he mused aloud, "He's like something out of a nightmare. Poor 'Mione!"

Ginny craned her neck up so see Harry's face then swiveled to look at Hermione. "Poor Hermione! No, Snape's like the hero out of a Gothic romance: dark, dangerous, powerful, masterful... Lucky Hermione!"

Hermione blushed furiously while everyone laughed.

Beth called out, "Look she agrees, look how she's getting red!"

Hermione shot the girl a vicious look, one that lost a lot of sting due to the alcohol on both sides.

"I do not agree, I just think he's…" As though she realized she was digging herself deeper into a hole she hadn't known was there in the first place, she cut off her words.

To hoots and yells of "Liar" and "Professor's Pet," along with many interesting suggestions of ways she could earn extra credit, Hermione went even redder.

Needing to keep up the pretense of being a semi-drunk teen male, but unable to stop his true self from leaking through just a bit, Snape leaned closer to Hermione and hissed, in his real voice (_Hell, I must be tipsier than I thought),_ "Yes, Miss Granger, be a good little Professor's pet."

Hermione met his eyes and he almost gaped. For a girl with that amount of firewhiskey in her belly, those brown eyes were entirely too sharp for his peace of mind. And those eyes were peering into his so intently, he was almost sure she could see his soul. Casually though, he leaned back and called, with a wide grin on his borrowed face, "Seamus, how 'bout another round?"

Three more rounds later, only one of which he'd managed to avoid drinking, Snape felt it safe enough for him to stumble away. It was nearing midnight and the real Ron would be returning soon from his detention.

In a slurred voice, only partly faked, he called, "Right, I'm off to bed! You!" Drunkenly he pointed at Harry, "You don't wake me up!" Swerving gently, he swung out of the room. Hermione, a slightly drunk frown on her face, made as though to follow him, but he hurriedly waved her back, mumbling, "I can do it…. Yeah…"

Adjusting his walk to that of mildly drunk, not that difficult, he stumbled his way down, laughing to himself. At the door to Ron and Harry's room, he fumbled with the latch, kicked the door, and laughed again. Opening the door, he paused, shuffled his feet, then slammed the heavily paneled door.

It was late now so the common room was mercifully devoid of students. Even in his slightly inebriated state; even in this ungainly body, Snape still managed to slip silently through the portal and out into the hall. Out of the darkness just ahead, Snape heard shuffling footsteps. Pressing to the wall for cover, he froze to see who was coming. When the all-to-familiar form appeared out of the darkness, Snape whipped his already-drawn wand into a tight pattern and muttered beneath his breath.

The combination confusion-and-delayed-reaction-sleeping charm, along with a few memory _de_-hancing tones thrown in, smacked into Ron's chest with a poof of dull grey smoke. The boy stumbled, tripping over his own feet. After a moment to regain some balance, he started off down the hall again, yawning broadly on the way to Gryffindor Tower. Ron's bleary blue eyes never even glanced into the alcove where his double stood in shadows.

When the hall was again silent, Snape slipped from the shadows and moved quickly toward his quarters. All the way down, through the Entrance Hall and down the steps to the dungeons, along the dank corridor to his office door, the only way to reach his private quarters. He silently congratulated himself on a mission well done. He'd not only discovered the culprit of the incident, though it wasn't who he thought it was (_or hoped it was), _but he'd learned more about the curious Miss Granger.

Shaking his head at the errant thought of the annoying know-it-all Gryffindor Princess, he quickly, if a bit clumsily unwarded his door. As he swept into the room and let the door slam behind him, Snape never saw the shocked, sharp brown eyes that watched him from the dungeon shadows.

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><p><em>Let me know it you enjoy this story, if it's worth my continuing it...<em>

_Thank you! Love~ MSP_


	2. Damn That Sneaky Snape

_I'm sorry to say, I won't be able to update nearly as quickly in the future. I just happened to have a large a chunk written before I posted the first chapter. Believe me, I really want to get to the lemony portion of our entertainment, but the buildup is taking longer than I intended. Stay with me, hopefully we'll get there pretty soon!_

_Love~ Master Snape's Pet_

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><p>The next morning dawned a mercifully overcast Sunday. All those who'd participated in the drinking of the pilfered whiskey were feeling the effects of the over indulgence. All except, of course, Snape, and Hermione.<p>

Snape sat in his usual place at the Head table and tried not to look at her. With her head bent over a book and her hand mechanically and precisely preparing a cup of strong tea, she was acting completely normal, just going about her normal Sunday routine.

She must have had a store of hangover cures ready, he realized. Just like him, she was one who understood the value of being prepared or every eventuality. Idly he passed the time thinking about what other sort of situations Miss Granger was undoubtedly prepared for.

When his thoughts turned towards the contraceptive potion recipes he knew were available in the library, his mood immediately blackened. He didn't like the idea of Hermione thinking she'd probably have need for those particular potions. His thought stopped there but he hastily forced himself to add on "at school, where she should be studying, not fraternizing with boys."

That was it. He'd let himself go on enough this morning, it was time to get going. With a push, he moved from the table, sent Albus and Minerva, twittering over their oatmeal, a brusque nod. He strode off between the long tables, passing on the opposite side of the Gryffindor table from Hermione.

When he'd reached the doors and hauled them open, he felt the prickle of awareness that had helped him survive the War; someone was watching him. When he turned his head to look, why bother pretending he hadn't noticed, his hard black eyes locked with perceptive brown. Held for barely an instant before Hermione shifted her gaze casually back to her book on the table.

More tensed from that look than he'd care to admit, Snape continued to the dungeons to _attempt_ to review his lesson plans for the week.

Hermione schooled her breathing, her trembling hands. It wouldn't do to let the others, on their way down to breakfast by now, see her so shaken. They would certainly ask what happened and just _how_ was she supposed to explain that it was momentary eye contact with the snarky Potions Master that caused such agitation?

She simply couldn't, that's how.

Damn Ginny for putting those thoughts about Snape in her head last night. She refused to acknowledge that they'd been deep in her mind for some time now.

And also damn Malfoy! After seeing the fake Ron slip into Snape's office, she'd realized Snape had been trying to find the parties responsible for the dungbomb incident.

But most of all, damn that sneaky, snarky, slippery, Slytherin Snape! Had it been truly necessary to whisper that suggestive comment in his own voice? She would have never thought it wasn't Ron if he hadn't used that voice, then she'd've never followed him down to his office and discovered who he really was. Now she could only think of that voice whispering similar things to her under very different, very private circumstances…. And what was she supposed to do with these thought?

She couldn't very well walk up to him and boldly tell him that she knew he'd pretended to be Ron the night before and would he please use that darkly dangerous voice to talk to her again? Oh, she could just picture his reaction to that.

Shaking her head quickly to hopefully dislodge thoughts of her professor, she forcibly turned her attention back to the useless textbook before her.

When her friends came down a few minutes later, only Ginny noticed that though Hermione turned the pages of the book, her eyes were stationary on each page, clearly not reading the text.

Later, much later that night, Ginny saw Hermione once again pretending to read a book. By now, however, her expression had shifted to one Ginny knew very well. This was Hermione's I've-found-this-brand-new-cubject-and-I'm-deciding-the-best-way-to-conqure-it face.

Oblivious to Ginny's watching, Hermione pondered what her next move should be. But she couldn't do it here; too many people.

With a tired wave to her friends, playing chess in a corner, Hermione made her way up the cool stone steps. As none of the other girls from her year had chosen to come back to complete their schooling, McGonagall had given Hermione a smaller, private room at the very top of the tower to live in this year.

She'd immediately turned it into a type of annex to the library, getting the house elves to install shelves in every available inch, all the way up the high, sloping walls. She'd then covered every shelf with every type of book she could get her hands on. After spending the summer here at school instead of Muggle England, she'd even become friendly with Madam Pince, who had let Hermione take worn out copies of the books for her personal library.

Apparently being older and wiser, along with her true and undying love of learning was a very good thing. Every teacher she had this year treated her far more like a colleague than a student. McGonagall had actually pulled her aside and offered to allow her to forgo all the homework in her classes if she'd help out in other classes and have open study sessions for other students in the library a few times a week.

Hermione had jumped at the chance to hone her budding teaching skills, and welcomed the respect and freedom her professors afforded her….

Except Snape, of course. He was still as cold as ever, still calling her Miss Granger, when all the others had switched to Hermione. He'd flatly told her that she was not to think she was exempt from the homework he assigned, and that he was not going to need her assistance in his classes. He couldn't' very well ban her from tutoring the others in Potions on study nights, but she knew he'd like to.

Still thinking about the sneaky Professor, she took a quick shower. Standing naked in her tiny private bathroom, she allowed herself a moment to think about herself like a man might, staring at her body in the full length mirror.

As far as she could see, it was a well-maintained, if too curvy form. _Absolutely nothing to be ashamed of,_ Hermione thought critically. After pulling on her robe from where it hung from a hook and applying a quick drying spell to her thick curly hair, she crawled into her small bed. She'd considered getting one of her many books, but for once, she didn't want to read herself to sleep. She needed to think. Thought she pondered her next step, she knew she didn't' have enough information to proceed yet. She needed to know what game he was playing with her and her friends before she could know how to respond.

With the simple plan of watching Snape in her mind, Hermione drifted off to sleep.

And spend the night dreaming about dark, silky whispers coming to her out of shadow-cloaked hallways.

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><p><em>Hope you enjoyed this chapter! It's possible I'll be able to work in some sort of dream-lemon….maybe! Maybe it'll happen if I can get a few more reviews ;) <em>

_Much love and kisses *smooooooooch* ~ MSP_


	3. Albus Sees and Meddles

_I'm very sorry I didn't get to work the lemons into the story how I wanted! I'm going to do my very best to work one in, at least a mild one, in the next chapter. If you've read _Snape's EveryWoman _you'll know that I love my lemons extra sour, but the first one in this story will probably be a little more vanilla. It's just the only way I can think of to get through Hermione's first time; I really like emotions between them, not just boffing like bunnies, so the first time will have to be careful... Hmmmm, I'll have to think about this... Anyway, please enjoy this chapter, while I ponder what to do with them..._

_Love always, Master Snape's Pet_

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><p>Monday morning was uncommonly bright and sunny. Albus couldn't help noticing that at least two faces that were not reflecting the sun. Down the table, Snape was scowling blackly at the harmless plate of bacon and eggs in front of him. Out at the Gryffindor table, Hermione Granger had a very similar expression aimed at her bowl of strawberries.<p>

Of course, Severus normally scowled, but not this darkly. And Hermione was normally a fairly cheerful morning person, and those strawberries had done nothing to warrant such a look.

Moving his eyes between the two, Albus was amazed to see that periodically one would glance at the other, scowl just a bit darker, and quickly look away. Did their discontent have something to do with each other? This would bear watching…and perhaps a bit, just a little bit of interference.

Though he didn't know it, Snape had slept no better than Hermione. All night long, he'd had dreams of following Hermione down dark hallways, calling out for her to come to him. Spending the night chasing the little chit and the day trying to avoid her was not going to be conducive to a placid mood. And look at her down there, calmly eating strawberries and reading a book like she wasn't destroying his carefully built, peaceful life.

Growling under his breath, he shoved away from the table and strode out of the Great Hall. Once again, he felt eyes on his back. This time, when he turned, it was Dumbledore's bright blue eyes fastened on him. Sneering at the Headmaster, he swept out of the Hall.

As he went over his first period lesson, a simple dissolving potion for Ravenclaw and Slytherin third years, he tried to convince himself that Dumbledore was just being his usual friendly self. He couldn't suspect Snape's over-awareness of Hermione…. Not possible. Thank the gods that he didn't have the seventh year class on Mondays. At least he wouldn't have to interact with _her_ today.

_Small favors,_ he thought, and began writing the instructions on the blackboard in his spikey handwriting.

Hermione looked down at the piece of parchment a first year had just handed her. The distinctive periwinkle-inked words very politely asked her to come to the Headmaster's office at the beginning of the second period. With a shrug, she stared up to her room to drop off her books before heading down to meet Dumbledore.

During the walk, she wondered what he might want with her…

His bright eyes twinkled cheerfully at her over his half-moon spectacles, but his face was stern.

"Miss Granger, what is it that you'd like to do once you leave Hogwarts?"

She met his eyes then glance over at McGonagall who stood against the wall. "Well, Professors, I actually want to become a teacher, so I will look into studying under some available master."

At her words, Dumbledore's eyes seemed to flare sharply then go dark. Hermione looked at him with surprise; she'd never seen quite that look on the cheerful Headmaster's face.

"Miss Granger, I have something to tell you…. I am afraid that you are no longer enrolled as a student at Hogwarts."

It was the calm, matter-of-fact way he delivered the blow that made Hermione freeze. "What?"

"I'm sorry, but you are not a student of Hogwarts anymore."

Hermione was stunned; torn between fury and heartbreak under a freezing wash of bewilderment. "Professor… please, Hogwarts is my home…. I have nothing to go back to out in the Muggle world. Not with my parents in Australia. This is my home… This is the only place I belong…. Please…"

She wasn't proud that she was begging; she wasn't happy that the words she spoke were the truth. If she didn't have Hogwarts, she had no home.

On the verge of distraught tears, Hermione looked to McGonagall, whether for conformation or refutation, she didn't know.

McGonagall's eyes welled up in sympathy and she barked, "Albus! Stop that right now. Can't you see what you're doing to the poor girl?" In an uncharacteristically maternal gesture, Minerva crouched before Hermione and took her hand. Patting it consolingly, the older lady said, "We are not kicking you out, Hermione, dear."

"But…."

Albus interrupted, "We are asking you to give up your student status, officially." Before Hermione could protest, he raised his hand to forestall her words. "We would like you to assume an assistant professor role here."

Hermione stared blankly at him then repeated, "…Assistant professor?"

"Yes, Miss Granger. If you choose to accept, you will still attend your scheduled classes, but as more of an auditor or assistant to the professor than as a student, as well as sitting in on a few classes for younger students. You will not be required to complete _any_ homework," here he paused and looked at her with a twinkle, "including that assigned by Professor Snape. You will not be required to participate in exams. You will still host your evening study groups, as we agree that they are a very good opportunity to explore teaching techniques. As the term progresses, some of the professors may ask you to actively participate in lecturing and instructing the younger students' classes."

Hermione could not believe that this chance was coming to her. Being a professor at Hogwarts was her dream and here she was, being handed a golden opportunity.

With eyes brimming with tears of joy now, Hermione looked to Dumbledore, then to McGonagall, and back to Dumbledore. "Yes, I want to do this. I want to start becoming a professor."

The two professors smiled broadly at their new assistant professor.

Over the next hour or so, the three of them went over the details of her new position, covering her sleeping arrangements (she'd retain her room, for now at least), eating arrangements (she'd eat breakfast at the Head Table and the other meals at her house table, if she wished), among many other considerations. When Hermione finally left the office, she felt both drained and elated, and couldn't wait to tell her friends the good news.

Snape looked down at the crumpled bit of parchment in his hand. If it had come from anyone other than Dumbledore, he would just ignore the summons, but…. Looking at the clock on his classroom wall, he determined he had enough time to work in the meeting with Albus before setting up for his last class of the day.

When he stared into the stone face of the gargoyle guarding the revolving steps, he took a breath. Surprise, unspecified meetings with the Headmaster were never, ever good things. Taking a breath, he hissed, "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," and strode up the staircase.

About five minutes later, Snape stood on the landing outside the office door, staring blankly at the stone wall in front of him.

She was not a student any more. That barrier wasn't there anymore; he couldn't just ignore the thoughts now on the grounds of that separation. She was one of them now; his colleague.

_Fuck._

At dinner that night, all the older students at the tables were buzzing about what had happened to Hermione. The Slytherins were predictably angry, claiming that it was Dumbledore's favoritism rising to the front again. The other houses both seemed to be as thrilled for Hermione as the Gryffindors were.

Under the cover of the happy chatter, no one really noticed or cared that Severus Snape wore the blackest scowl he'd ever showed. No one saw when he got up from the table without a word to anyone; no one took notice other than to lean forward out of his way when he swept from the Hall.

Back in the Common Room of Gryffindor Tower, Hermione was continually besieged with congratulations and claps on the back from admiring housemates. Laughing, she said over and over how, no, she wasn't going help them get out of detention, or give them any special treatment. Knowing her as they did, they took her at her word and laughed off the issue. When all the younger students had cleared out, Seamus whipped out the bottle of firewhiskey and passed around glasses.

"To our own 'Mione, the newest Professor of Hogwarts!" To cries of "Here, here!" everyone drank their toasts. After a few more minutes of congratulations, Hermione passed around hugs and thank-yous and headed up to her bedroom.

While she prepared for bed, she wondered if it was too cliché to say that tomorrow was going to be the first day of the rest of her life? Shaking her head at that thought, she crawled into her little bed. As she drifted off to sleep, her only thought was that she hoped _he_ wasn't in her dreams tonight.

She was to be disappointed.


	4. Dreams and Cold Showers for Two

_Dear Gentle Readers, _

_YAY! I didn't work in a full-grown lemon, and I am sorry about that , but I just couldn't see how it would work; I do think that the scene at the end is a good segue into later lemons, though. Please comment to let me know if you think I should have done it different, if it wasn't what you expected or hoped for… I love hearing from you, ladies and gentlemen. I really do. It's serious encouragement for me to continue, knowing that you're enjoying the story. Now, without further ado, chapter four._

_With much love, Master Snape's Pet_

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><p>Tuesday morning, Hermione rolled out of bed early, hoping to get down to the Head Table before most of the other students. She'd been up since before sunrise anyway, due to a potent combination of nerves and agitation…. The first was from her first day as an assistant professor. The second was from the dreams she'd had all night. They were the same as the ones she'd had the night before. Again the voice she unhappily recognized as Professor Snape's had called to her as she ran. Whether she ran to or from the voice, she still did not know…and she would really rather not have to make that distinction.<p>

No matter that she was in the Great Hall early, apparently none of the students wanted to miss an event that had never happened before. The tables were lined with students when she pushed open the doors. Flashing a nervous smile at her friends at the Gryffindor table, she moved past them, on to the Head Table.

When she walked up the steps to the table, the Headmaster rose. Spreading out his arms, he spoke clearly, "Professor Granger, good morning! Would you mind taking the seat just there?" He gestured at a chair a few down from his. Hermione was thankful that her seat was on the opposite side from Snape's chair; she didn't want to get any closer to him than was necessary.

All through breakfast, the other professors smiled at her, offered their congratulations, suggestions, comments. Hermione very quickly lost her stiffness. These people had already been treating her with camaraderie this year; this was really just the natural next step.

Almost before she knew it, it was time for the first class period. She lost her cheerful smile when she remembered what her first class was today.

_Well hell, it's not as though I can avoid him forever._

Though they were coming from the exact same place and going to the same place, she and Snape didn't make the slightest move to walk to the dungeons together.

While all the students got seated, Snape went over his notes for the class. Seeing as this was the highest potions class Hogwarts offered, it was mostly hands-off from his point of view. Though he didn't like to admit, even to himself, having Hermione in class had made this year much easier for him. The students had stopped comimg to him with their foolish questions, and, with Hermione managing to manage everyone in the class, there had been no explosions, melted cauldrons, or the like. He'd been able to get a great deal of his grading for the other classes done in these classes because of her.

Today he'd set them a fairly easy potion to complete and fully expected Hermione to finish early and be able to handle any questions from the others. Just more time for him to complete other work.

By the end of the class, everyone had managed to turn in a respectable product and they were eager to leave. He dismissed them with a wave of his hand without even bothering to look up. However, though he desperatly wanted to, he couldn't just let her walk out.

"Miss Granger." His voice was cool, emotionless.

Hermione turned, looked at him, or rather the top of his head. Meeting Harry's eyes, she shook her head and motioned him out the door. He shrugged and walked past her out into the hall with Ron and Ginny.

Hermione took a fortifying breath and walked up to the desk.

"Actually, Professor Snape, it is Professor Granger now." Her voice was calm, non-confrontational. Her normal addressing-the-teacher voice.

In the silence that followed her correction, he raised his head. For the first time since the dreams began, their eyes met, held, locked. She went dry-mouthed.

He was very, very glad that he'd had all that practice showing no emotion on his face or eyes in Voldemort's court. There, showing fear or hatred would get you killed. Here, any emotion at all could have the same effect… Keeping his eyes flat and cold, he ignored the correction (_she was right, damn her, but no way in hell am I going to tell this little chit that)_ and began to speak.

"Miss Granger, the Headmaster has informed me that you as you have no burning desire –" Here, he paused for just an instant, hardly enough for her to take notice, but she did. "– to teach potions. Therefore, you will only be _helping_ in one first year class per week. Against my wishes, the Headmaster has also dictated that you do not need to do any homework or tests that I assign."

Before he could continue, she interrupted, "I'll still do the work, sir."

His black eyes flashed. "Excuse me?"

"I still intend to do the work in this class, sir. I want to do as well on the Potions NEWT as I can which will require more study. This is the class in which I have to worst marks, as you know, sir, so I need to apply myself firmly."

He paused a moment before replying, then simply said, "Be here for the last period on Friday."

She dipped her head, said quietly, "Yes, sir," and left the class, leaving Snape staring down at his desk in the empty classroom.

He shook his head and tried to return to grading.

All week long, they both suffered through the dreams. By Friday morning, Hermione had realized that though she ran from him in the dreams, it was so that he would chase her. She didn't know why, or rather, she didn't want to admit why she wanted him to chase her. But she was beginning to realize that she wanted him to catch her. Badly.

The first year class she sat in on was brutal.

She had, well, not precisely forgotten, but pushed aside the way he browbeat the first years. While he went through the instructions, purposely making the students take the harder routes to reach the end potion, Hermione watched him work.

When she'd gotten into the classroom a few minutes before the class began, he'd barely spoken to he, just enough to tell her that for this class, she was not to interfere with his students. She would refer all questions to him. She was only to help with the technique of ingredient preparing, not to instruct them on the actual brewing process.

She had only said, "Yes, Professor," and took the seat he'd provided behind his own.

Snape was keenly aware of her presence, of her quiet observance of his instructions. This was a new situation. As his student, she often sat on the other side of those workbenches but having her here on his side was totally different. He could feel her watching him, taking notes in her small notebook. Though she'd had years to observe his teaching styles, he'd known that she'd still take notes. It was so predictably Hermione.

Thankfully the potion was not a horribly complicated and the students managed to produce the products without much mishap. Only two cauldrons blew up.

Once he'd dismissed the class, he returned to his desk, leaving her to complete the cleanup. She did it quietly but he saw that she didn't resent it. Every now and again, he heard her chuckle and he knew she'd come across the sketches that students in this class had taken to drawing. They were of him, of course, doing ridiculous things or in ridiculous clothes. The Longbottom-grandmother costume was a popular favorite.

Try as he might, Snape was unable to determine who the artist was, because the pictures were all over the room not just at one desk. Ohhh, eventually he was going to get that artist, and when he did...

"Professor?"

He looked up at her coolly. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

She gritted her teeth at the name but didn't call him out on it. It would only give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd gotten to her. "Do you need me to do anything else before I go, sir?"

_Soooo many things, Miss Granger._ "No. You may go."

"Alright." She turned and walked to the door and left without another word.

The rest of Hermione's day passed in a whirl of students and questions. Friday was one of her study nights and she'd gone to the library early, letting it be known that she had extra time to tutor and plenty of students had taken her up on the offer.

It was late when she finally got back to her little room at the top of Gryffindor Tower. With very little energy left, she simply stripped off her clothes and crawled into bed. Meer moments afterward, she was fast asleep.

The dream was the same…at first. Through the dark passages she ran, stopping periodically to listen. He moved like the shadows he loved to hide in; she was sure that Crookshanks made more noise than he did. Gasping for breath, more out a combination of anticipation and fear than from exertion, she ran on.

This time, however, she discovered she knew where she was; she was just a few corridors from the steps that lead up to the entrance hall of Hogwarts. For some reason, Hermione knew that if she could only reach that warmly lit place, she would be safe from the man who hunted her through the dungeons. She ran faster.

Snape could hear her ahead of him. As young and untrained as she was, she hadn't perfected, as he had done out of necessity, the skill of near-silent movement. But though he could hear her footfalls, hear her panting breath, which made it beyond easy to track her, he didn't need the help; he knew where she was going.

They were very close to the well-lit entrance. Though he did not know why, he was frantic to reach her before she got there; his instincts told him that if she got away from him, back into the safety of the school's upper floors, she'd be lost to him. He had to catch her now.

Though he ran silently, it was not as speedy as he could be; Snape let go of his advantage of surprise, as she already knew he was there, and ran flat out, desperate to reach her. He rounded the corner into the final hall that ended with the stairs and saw her just a few meters from them, already washed in the pale golden glow from the torches above. Pulling on resources he didn't realize he possessed, he lunged forward with a harsh _whoosh_ of expelled breath.

Just steps from the stairs, Hermione heard the sound and, unwisely, turned. All she could see was black on black, but she knew he was there. Before she could make it up the stairs, before she could even move, he was on her. His arms bound her tightly, holding her immobile as he shoved her roughly back into the coarse stone wall.

Snape stared down into the upturned face. Her eyes were wide and deep, full of emotion but he recognized none of them as fear.

She was not afraid of him; she wanted him.

"Hermione." Her name was a black velvet hiss, half demand and half plea.

She stared at him for the longest moment, giving him no hint.

With a muffled exclamation, he dropped his head and took her mouth with his. He plundered, took what he wanted from her. His kiss was deep and harsh. When his tongue touched the seam of her lips, he didn't wait politely for her permission; he simply invaded as he wanted.

His mouth on hers was nothing like anything Hermione had ever felt before. He took, with no regard to her approval. He overpowered her defenses, slipped past her guard to ransack her senses. And she wanted more.

Snape became aware of movement under his restraining hands. She struggled ineffectually against his greater strength. Dragging his lips from hers, he ground out against her throat, "Stop fighting me, you little witch!"

Because he got distracted with the sweet skin on her neck, she had time to get out, "Let me go…"

He growled disapprovingly and not so gently nipped her. She gasped and he raised his face to hers again, fastening their lips together, catching the end of her gasp in his own mouth.

When she continued to struggle, he yanked her hands above her head and shackled them in one of his against the stones. He used his entire body to press her tight, holding her still with his weight. When she squirmed, her breasts pressed against his chest and he groaned into her mouth. She nipped his bottom lip.

He pulled back and glowered at her.

"Let me go!"

"No. I caught you; you'll never get away from me now."

She growled at him and bit out, "I want to touch you!"

He stared at her, trying not to show his surprise. The black eyes searched hers deeply, trying to asses her sincerity. He blinked and made up his mind.

He dipped his head and rubbed his lips on her parted ones, whispered agasint them, "Maybe next time, witchling…" His voice trailed off as he bent to the task of possessing her mouth.

She clearly didn't want to let him take be the only one who could touch; she struggled and fought to get her hands free from his grip. Snape just chuckled and used his lips and tongue and teeth to torment her. He slid down her neck, biting her, making her hiss at him. With his hooked beak, he nudged open her robe and began to nuzzle at the shadowy valley between her breasts. His free hand came up to cover one breast over her robe.

She'd expected his touch to be rough and greedy; though he certainly was not gentle, he was carful with her. When he plucked at a puckered nipple through the cloth, she moaned out his name. He laughed quietly and set his teeth to the curve of one half-exposed breast; began to torture her as best he could.

But she was a slippery little witch; her hands were much smaller than his and she was slick with sweat from her run, making it hard for him to keep his grip.

With a heroic yank, she pulled one hand free. Before he could recapture it, she took a fistful of his sweat-dampened hair and tried to heave him up. He bit her sharply before he let her pull him up to meet her mouth. She wanted the kiss and he gave it to her, but on his terms. With bruising force, he crushed her lips under his, took what she offered…and what she didn't.

She tried to pull away, tried to get free. Almost effortlessly he held her still and ravaged her mouth. She took it, took his strength, and challenged him to give her more.

Lost in the moment, drowning in the taste of her, Snape fisted his hand in her robe and began to haul it up. He released the hand he still held and slipped his now free hand under the robe. His hand gripped her thigh, gently stroked just for an instant, savoring the feel of her silky skin. Unable to contain his hunger, he dragged his hands higher.

While he devoured her mouth, his long, nimble fingers traced the very edge of her panties. He moved back, sent them searching furiously for a way inside….

And she woke up.

She lay in her tiny bed, quivering in reaction to the dream. She could feel the dampness between her legs, the bed sheet abrading her tight nipples… She didn't know what to make of that dream… but she knew that she wanted more. Throwing back her damp sheet, she slid out of bed to go take a cold shower.

Snape woke with a start. He'd caught her. It had been everything he'd hoped for, except that he hadn't been able to take her. Which didn't really make sense… His dream should never have ended without letting him get his fill of the girl.

He reached a point where she'd been a little frightened in the dream. The place where, if she'd been with him in reality, she probably would have called a halt to their activities. Hmmm. Was it possible that she had been with him…?

Trying to ignore the throbbing of his cock, all swollen and hard, he rolled over in his bed. He desperately wanted to pick up the dream where it'd left off but he had a feeling that that would not be happening. In fact, he was fairly sure he would not be getting any more sleep tonight.

With her name and a curse on his lips, he left the bed and went to take a cold shower.

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><p><em>Let me know what you think!<em>

_ MSP_


	5. Minerva Finds Out

_Dear Readers, it's been a while and I'm sorry about that but you should be ashamed of yourselves for not reviewing! I'm not planning on having a full grown lemon in this chapter, but if you ask nicely…maybe in the next one! _

Snape was draped over his oatmeal bowl, staring at the unappetizing mush. Dumbledore was about to tell him that it would do him more good in his stomach than the bowl when Snape raised his head like a dog on point. Dumbledore's eyebrows flew up and he turned to follow the younger man's gaze.

In a voice designed so that only Snape would hear, the Headmaster said, apparently to no one in particular, "Professor Granger looks especially rosy this morning."

Snape's head swung around and the look he sent the Headmaster could have peeled paint. Dumbledore studiously continued facing forward and beamed a welcome at Hermione as she hurried up the space between the tables. With a murmured hello to the table in general, she took her seat with an ungainly rush. When Professor Sprout turned to include her in a discussion with Flitwick over the pros and cons of contraction spells, those that incorporates elements of two or more spells, Hermione gratefully joined in.

Hiding his smile, Dumbledore slid a look at Minerva. The Gryffindor Head was looking at Hermione was a curious expression. When she turned to look at Dumbledore, he flicked his twinkling blue eyes over his shoulder and had the pleasure of seeing Minerva's eyes go surprised then suspicious, ending up furious slits.

"Minerva, would you mind coming to my office after breakfast?" Albus asked cordially, before dropping his voice and continuing, "Don't say anything to the boy until we can talk, please, my dear." Minerva's now narrowed her eyes at him, but he only smiled slightly and returned to his breakfast.

Ten minutes after breakfast found Minerva violently pacing the Headmaster's office. "What does he think he's doing? He seduced a student!"

In direct contrast to Minerva's increasing shrillness, Dumbledore's voice was cool and calm when he began, "Well actually, Minerva…" When she looked at him, he gestured to the chair in front of his desk but she just shook her head and continued pacing. With a gently cocked eyebrow, he continued, "There are a few things you need to take into account. One: she is not a student. Not anymore."

Before he could go on, Minerva interrupted forcefully, "That's why you made her an assistant professor, isn't it? Albus, how _could you_? You are helping him take advantage of that innocent girl!"

"Minerva, are you suffering under the impression that I am acting as some sort of procurer for Severus? Who, by the way, made no overtures to the girl while she was a student, and, even with her new status, has not _yet_ made those advances." His voice was verging on sharp now, his insult palpable. "If he chooses to make the advances now, he is free to do so."

Minerva opened her mouth to squawk at him but he raised his hand for silence. "My dear, do you think that Hermione could not rebuff Severus if she chose?" he asked softly. "She is a like a young lioness, Minerva, and she is learning to sharpen her claws from the best." His bright eyes gleamed at her across the desk, making it clear who he meant.

She gave him a look that was a mixture of affection and disapprobation, one that clearly stated she was in no mood for flattery. But when she spoke, her voice had gone quiet. "Albus, it is not that I don't trust her abilities, it's just… Severus, he…" She trailed off and dropped into the empty chair. "The boy is too much for her, Albus. She doesn't – can't – know what she'd be getting into by getting involved with him."

Albus reached over, took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. "I know you're afraid because of his past but he's a good man, my dear. Severus has lived a hard life, has made hard choices, is a hard man. Hard and cold, Minerva… But I see something in the way he looks at her, something I've never seen on his face before."

With pity in her eyes, she asked, "Not even when he talked about Lily?"

"No. That look was like a pale imitation of this one." He trailed off for a moment, letting that thought hang in the air. When he spoke, it was almost as if he spoke to himself alone. "The boy deserves happiness. Why don't we just let things play out for a while and see what comes of it?"

"But, Albus…!"

"Minerva, I promise you, you can step in if it looks like he is overwhelming her, or if she is having any problems at all. I don't want her hurt any more than you do, you know that."

Minerva looked into those bright blue eyes, trying to read the thoughts behind the sparkle, but as always, it was impossible. With a huffy sigh, she threw up her hands in exasperation and strode to the office door. "Very well, Albus, we'll let it happen, but on your head be it!" She exited the office with a dramatic slam of the heavy oak panel.

For a time, Albus sat quietly in his office, thinking about Snape and his hard life, Hermione, who'd been through more than any young woman ought to have, and Minerva, the woman that kept him young in his old age.

She could feel his eyes on her. Hermione picked at her dinner and thought about the day. On a given day, she rarely saw Snape anywhere other than the Potions classroom or at meal, and today had been no different. Except that he'd been in her mind's eye all day. It was that dream, damn it all. Until that dream she could ignore these feelings… But that dream had changed everything. Just looking at him now made her pulse race, her body temperature rise.

Even now, when she wasn't looking at him, she could feel those deep black eyes on her. They were cold and hot at the same time and gave her chills. Taking a deep, almost painful breath to fortify herself, Hermione tipped her face up towards the Head Table and met his eyes. It was like an electric shock and she had to look away. There was something in those deep eyes that she didn't recognize intellectually but instinctively feared.

The moment was snapped when Ron bumped her arm and asked around the mouthful of chicken in his mouth, "'Mione, oo gon'a ee tho pesh?" With a sigh, Hermione handed the bottomless pit her plate and forced herself to watch him scoop her peas onto his plate, carefully avoiding looking back to the Head Table.

Heaving a heavy sigh, she thought about how she'd planned on being aloof and ignoring the unsettling man… apparently it was too much for her to handle just now after all. With another sigh, this one so deep Ginny looked up at her to see if anything was wrong, Hermione strode briskly out of the Great Hall. She could feel the set of black eyes boring into her back but she never noticed the other sets that watched her with amusement and inquiry.

Hermione needed to be alone and knew that the Common Room was going to be filled to bursting with Gryffindors asking for her help in a few minutes, if she were foolish enough to let herself be caught there. The library it would be, then. Within minutes, she curled herself into a ball in one of the large, thickly padded armchairs in front of a fireplace in the deserted library. Tucked back as this place was, deep in the home of the wordiest-and-most-dusty tomes, she was the only person who ever spent more than a moment in it. It was her secret place and she loved it.

After the week she'd had, Hermione didn't want to think. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, allowing the beloved scent of books tinged with smoky fire flood her senses. It wasn't long before she drifted off into deep, quiet sleep.

That was where he found her, hours later, in his own sleep. She looked so tired, he thought, with her cheekbones clearly outlined by the smooth, nearly translucent skin. When his hand moved of its own volition to stroke that cheek, he stopped himself out of pure reaction. With a breath, he reminded himself it was a dream and, gods, hadn't he touched her dream self a great deal more just a few nights ago?

With that mental defense playing, he lowered his hand to her face, enjoying the silky feel of her skin against his brewing-roughened fingers. A dangerous smile curled his lips when a dark voice in his head whispered about how good that sweet, soft skin would feel rubbing things other than his fingers. But that would wait.

Snape knew that he'd moved too fast for the girl in that first dream. As he'd pretty much just given up on trying to convince himself that he should leave her alone, he watched her dream image sleep while he wondered about his next move. After a few moments, Snape heaved a sigh and dragged a plush footstool over in front of Hermione's chair.

He would get no satisfaction from this dream tonight but he could get the satisfaction of knowing that she was thinking of him as he did her!

Taking a bracing breath to steel himself against the temptation she presented, Snape placed his hands lightly on her curled legs. Slowly, gently, torturing himself, he rubbed upwards, stroking her rounded legs over the fabric of her robe. When she shifted under his hands, he smiled again, and lowered his head.

While her shifted had parted her legs somewhat, it had also exposed the arched curve of her neck. Snape place his lips softly to that curve, savoring the scent of her skin, soap and inky parchment and that indefinable scent that was "Hermione." While his hands played gently up and down her legs, he nibbled softly at the tender skin. He especially liked dragging his teeth over the taught skin, watching it pale then flush where his teeth pressed; later, when he finally got her in bed, he was going to please himself by leaving those little trails all over her rosy body.

For a time, Snape simply played gently, enjoying the way she felt him even in her sleep, watching her squirm in the chair. _Mmmmm, _was all he could think; everything about this young woman made his mouth water.

Eventually he had to step back. He couldn't do this anymore without paying more heavily for it than he was already going to. But before he could will himself awake, Hermione spoke from her deep sleep.

"Severus…." The one word was long, quiet. It scraped his already raw nerves. Without conscious permission, he found his hand cupping her face. When her lips parted, he slipped his thumb into the dark, damp space and had to smother a groan when her tongue licked him softly. Withdrawing his thumb with excruciating slowness, he brushed her full bottom lip, spreading her moisture.

He felt his leash on his control snap when her tongue darted out to flick over his thumb again. Not bothering to hold back his growl, Snape bent forward and crushed her damp lips to his, and ravished her mouth powerfully.

Hermione woke, gasping for breath, feeling as if every inch of her was on fire. Her head swung frantically from side to side, searching for the dark wizard who'd been filling her dreams. The initial moments of disorientation passed and Hermione sighed and settled back in the chair….

_Dear gods, how much longer can this go on? _


End file.
